Harry Potter and The Little Door
by Sayonara Goodbye
Summary: After stocks in Vernon Dursley's drills fell, he is forced to move his family to more affordable conditions.
1. Chapter 1

Everything was in boxes, and Mrs. Dursley was fit to be tied.

"That's a priceless replicate!" She shrieked, the clatter of her heels echoing on the wooden floors of their bare living room.

The movers were unimpressed, and the corners of the box filled with breakable valuables hit the door two more times before they turned it upside-down and grunted down the excessively long driveway. As soon as Petunia Dursley's heels clacked over the threshold of Number 4 Privet Drive and into the neighbors' view, she pasted her rouged lips into a patient smile as the movers kicked the last of the boxes into the truck.

Two little boys, bored with the commotion and upheaval of moving, resorted to physical violence as a means of diversion. One of the boys was actually little; he was barely more than elbows and knees. The seat belt was fit to burst on the other boy, and his every movement caused the fat on his arms to jiggle like pudding.

The little one was Harry Potter. The big one was Dudley Dursley, and he was extremely intolerant of boredom. In his intolerance, he was prone to attacks. On Harry.

"Settle down, settle down, little tyke." Mr. Durseley's jowls jiggled like Dudley's arms, and the effect was framed grotesquely by his stiff and lustrous mustache. Harry called him Uncle, and thought he rather looked like a walrus with all that blubber pooling about his starched collar.

"It's not the poor dear's fault," stated Aunt Petunia. She seated herself in the front and threw a besotted smile at her growing boy. "Mommy knows about your nerves, sweet angel. When we get to our new place, we will have pizza and ice cream and cable."

She was rewarded with a petulant kick to her seat.

"Well, the drive is long." Vernon Dursley fiddled with a gigantic folding map before "sodding it to hell" and taking off after the lumbering moving van.

Due to mysterious circumstances and Dursley's downward spiraling luck in the market of drills, the Dursleys and Harry Potter were moving to a nondescript flat outside of Little Whinging. From what he had seen of the place (since none of the Dursleys trusted him alone in the house), the flat required all the sprucing up that a neurotic home maker like Aunt Petunia would surely take upon herself.

Fat raindrops clustered on the windshield, and Harry sighed, wishing that he could enjoy the beginning of summer break. He didn't mind the rain, but hated the way Aunt Petunia blamed him for the mud Dudley tracked on her floors. His Aunt would be on high alert from weeks because she was the type to have everything so-so.

Harry allowed himself to entertain the notion that he would get a fresh start at his new school, and maybe his own room instead of the cupboard under the stairs. He rather liked the idea of going to a different school from Dudley, and the comfort that Dudley and Piers couldn't use him like volleyballs anymore. Dudley was unsurprisingly able to attend a private school while Harry settled for a public one with scratchy gray uniforms.

Fortunately, the new school was stringent about the brand of clothing on a pupil, and Petunia had been in a rage for a week about throwing away the smelly clothes she'd dyed gray.

He was rudely awoken by the obscene honk of a car horn, and hastily put his glasses into his breast pocket, knowing that vision was impossible in the torrential downpour. Only by his reflexes did he miss Dudley's ham-like calf stuck out to trip him.

There on the barren horizon loomed a monstrosity. Harry had thought it unique and run-down from a previous trip, but he'd formed that opinion in the safety of a locked car. Now that he considered having to live in such a place, a misplaced dread shivered up and along the nerve endings that sensed danger (i.e: when Dudley planned to sit on him). Harry touched the lightning bolt-shaped scar on his forehead, a self conscious gesture that belied a nervous habit.

"No lazing!" his uncle yelled over the gale force winds. Aunt Petunia and Dudley were already inside, dry and not needing to lift a finger. Harry, almost blown away, was expected to remove luggage from the trunk and floor of the car.

Drenched and congested, Harry hauled the last of the family's personal effects into the foyer. His eyes were stinging from the winds and the water from his hair trickling down. He was so cold that his glasses fogged up at once.

His trainers sloshed on a rug that had seen better and drier days. The movers had already left. All of their boxes were cluttered unhelpfully into a living room that was already heavily furnished. Most of these would probably end up in a landfill, if Aunt Petunia's appraisal of the worn furniture was anything to go by.

The TV would probably go first, as Dudley had already put his foot through it.

"I WANT SAMURAI PIZZA CATS!" Dudley howled. Though Harry was just shy of ten, he was glad the movers hadn't been privy to Dudley's tantrums. He was embarrassed by Dudley's lack of restraint, to make up for his oblivious aunt and uncle.

Conditions only worsened when Uncle Vernon had attempted the number to a pizza place. The phone cord, it seemed, had been chewed by rats.

"Just wonderful," Aunt Petunia muttered as she peeked into a fridge. "Mold and beets. Terrific." She turned on her heel and glared at Harry and handed him some quid. "Go to the store we passed and pick up bacon, eggs, bread, and juice."

"And cookies!"

"And some brandy," Uncle Vernon muttered, after looking at the bills that had been wedged on the fire place.

"I have to go out in that weather?" Harry exclaimed as the ground seemed to rumble under their feet.

"No dallying or buying treats for yourself," Vernon grumbled at him, his mustache twitching as he frowned deeply at his nephew. "Not a toe out of line."

Harry gritted his teeth and stomped out to the hall, trying to will his body not to catch sick. A door he hadn't noticed creaked open. Inside was a pair of yellow boots and a rain coat that looked to be the right size. They looked like they wouldn't have fit Dudley five years ago. Knowing that Petunia would never buy something so happy and yellow, Harry felt no pangs in his conscience to put them on before going out into the storm.

It was quite one thing to get a short list of groceries on foot and then by car. He himself was extremely hungry and barely had the effort to dredge through the mud. The cashier seemed concerned about his unaccompanied purchases, but Harry evaded his questions and hurried back to the Pink Palace Apartments.

He was truly grateful for the warm boots and the coat when he returned. Somehow, the house seemed chillier than before. A strange draft pervaded the hallway despite Harry's emphatic locking of the door, as though something breathed in the walls. Harry also thought he could hear the chattering of mice, and thought that maybe that was it.

Despite the best efforts of the storm, the Dursleys had not suffered a black out. Despite the best efforts of Harry's imagination, Dudley had not been electrocuted when he'd knocked the TV fully on to the floor.

"I'm bored, bored, bored," Dudley droned, then his piggy eyes landed on the bags of food hanging limply by Harry's arms. Petunia immediately took those away from him and ordered him to clean up.

Thank God she hadn't made him cook after that walk, although standing next to the stove didn't seem a bad option.

"What was that ghastly thing you were wearing?" she asked him when he'd changed into slightly soggy and cardboard-smelling clothes. "You didn't buy it with my money, did you?"

"I won't have a thief in this house," Vernon was starting in on him, too.

Dudley quieted, his eyes still fixed on the box of mini-donuts Harry had bought.

"I found it in a closet," Harry said, his fists curling in his pockets. "I think it was from someone who lived here."

Petunia shuddered delicately. "Toss it out. That tacky thing. Who knows if you've got lice or fleas on you now?"

Harry went up the stairs and immediately hid the coat and boots under the little cot they'd set up for him. The little bit of change he hadn't bothered giving back to Petunia jingled lightly. He put his hand in the pocket, and discovered a mysterious piece of paper.

Before reading it, Harry locked his door and turned on a lamp. The smell of bacon and eggs permeated the house, so he didn't worry about Dudley barging in. It's just that a part of him knew that he'd made a discovery that would change him. This was private.

He opened the paper and frowned because it was written in pencil and quite hard to read. In faint ghostly etchings, he could make out the words:

"Once upon a time, lived Coraline,

Blue of hair, and awesomely divine,

Who did not want buttons on her eyes.

The Other Mother insisted and devised,

Three Wonders, a trap, and many lies.

The Key and the Hand lurk well and by,

Beware The Doll, her spy in disguise,

And listen to Mr. B's mice as they advise,

You, do not pass, through little door.

Eyes, soul, spirit, yours no more.

Oh, and Why-Were-You-Bourne helped, I guess.

And the Cat after being a pest."

None of it made sense, but it sounded terribly like an adventure, with friends, both of which were strictly punished at Number 4 Privet Drive.

Stomach grumbling, Harry pocketed the treasured slip and went to the smell of bacons and eggs, though he expected that all that Petunia saved for him was the dry toast.

With the thunderstorm and Dudley howling about the lack of cable and the toast sitting like cardboard in his mouth, Harry decided that he was rather looking forward to more discoveries.

* * *

A/N: Wanted to do a decent crossover for HP x Coraline. May or may not go anywhere. Let your imaginations run wild on this guys. Don't own a thing.


	2. Chapter 2

Instead of wishes on his birthday, his cousin Dudley was granted a heap of disappointment.

"Only a cake?" yelped Dudley. His face was contorted into its usual state of rage, and Petunia winced, not in annoyance from his high pitched squeals, but from the guilt suffocating her loving heart to have displeased the apple of her eye.

"When Daddy gets going at his new company, we'll throw another birthday party for you and there will be mountains of gifts all for you, Dudders," Petunia entreated, quavering. She went on her knees and reached for the boy, but he would have none of it.

When Dudley stormed out of the room, he really took the cake. To all intents and purposes, Dudley was not sharing it either.

Harry took the silly cone off his head and crept out of the living room before he became scapegoat to Aunt Petunia's trodden-down feelings.

If Aunt Petunia had been an average aunt, or acted as a civil adult where Harry was concerned, Harry might have felt some pity for her. As it was, the weather had cleared in the past couple of days and there was supposedly an old well which Dudley wasn't allowed to play near. No such warning had been given to Harry, so he was free to see what the fuss was about.

He didn't have the nerve to put on the raincoat openly against Petunia's edict, but he supposed the yellow boots would be alright, since his sneakers were useless when wet. Quietly, he shut the door behind him, and almost tripped over a ton of mail left on the sidewalk.

"Bobinsky, Bobinsky, and… " Harry stopped rooting through it. A stench more odious than the cabbage smell of one of his ex-neighbors emanated from the mail. He nearly gagged on it.

A sign pointed up the fire escape, and it read "Bobinsky." Harry dumped the nasty packages in front of the door and high-tailed it down the steps, not wanting to get a whiff of what Bobinsky might smell like, if his mail was anything to go by.

It was too late. His escape was blocked but an anemic-looking man with a disproportionate belly. This must have been Mr. Bobinsky.

"Trying to find out my secrets, huh?" As Harry had feared, Mr. Bobinsky's breath could have woken the dead. The man did a couple of squats and stretches that brought Harry's attention most uncomfortably to the hair on his belly and under his arms.

"No, our mail was mixed up." Harry considered ducking through the man's spindly legs.

"Don't tell me about childs. All of you are nosy peepers. The last one, Caroline, she wanted to see my secretly amazing mice. I am Bobinsky. The 'amazing' is silent but included with my name, yes."

Harry was about to make his excuses and run, but Mr. Bobinsky spotted the mail and unbelievably inhaled the contents.

"Du fromage," Mr. Bobinsky sighed. "My last batch was too strong. Make toot-toot-toot sounds after oompah."

Harry didn't even want to think about what Mr. Bobinsky meant. With much disgust, Harry brushed by his eccentric neighbor. "Uh, yes, you're welcome. I'll just—"

And then he bolted, almost blindly, in an exhilarating rush downhill past the apple orchards and to a soft and muddy road. After being cooped up doing chores for a couple of weeks and having to listen to Dudley's complaints about the wibbly picture on the TV, Harry was glad to taste the fresh air.

He stopped when he heard a rustling in the bushes. "Hello?"

A wispy red snake with yellow and black bands slithered partly through the branches.

"Wow, are you poison?" Harry blurted. He stayed where he was, not daring to approach in case it was.

The snake sort of wiggled, and Harry took that as a negative.

"Would you happen to know where the old well is?" Harry was delighted to see it bob its body up and down. "Am I going the right way?"

Another nod.

"Thanks—"

"You have ratss in your home," Harry heard.

The scrawny boy stopped in his tracks and looked around for the source of the voice. His bespectacled gaze fell on the snake and he laughed at himself. "Right, Potter, a talking snake."

"A talking human iss jusst as ridiculousss," Harry heard unmistakably from the direction of the snake in the bush.

"Blimey," Harry sputtered, then thought better of himself. It was awfully rude of him to laugh at someone every time they talked. He'd hated it when Dudley and Piers had done it to him.

"Sorry there. It's my first conversation with snakes; I didn't mean it. How did you know there are rats in my home?" Harry inquired, fascinated.

"Ssmellss like it," said the snake, flicking its tongue. It sounded like a boy snake.

"Aunt Petunia won't like that," Harry said, smiling.

"I would like a tassste," said the snake.

"Oh, you'd like to come with me? Will you be okay in my pocket?"

"Iss pocket warm?"

Harry nodded and slowly held his arm out to the snake. It crawled like ivy all over his arm and he carefully guided it to the pocket over his heart.

Having made a friend, Harry walked rather than skipped down the muddy path, mindful of aggravating his passenger. Eventually, he came to a clearing that was covered in patches of crab grass, weeds, and other growing things that Aunt Petunia would have hated to see in her front lawn.

Harry picked a fluffy dandelion and blew on it, wishing to find the old well. For a moment, all the fluffs drifted in the air until a gust scattered them. Harry picked one to chase and felt something squishy give under his foot.

He hoped it wasn't a slug. As he put his foot away, another dreadful smell came at him and Harry leaped back in disgust. He'd trodden upon a large toad stool. There were a dozen of them, ringed in a circle.

Harry blinked and hopped in and out and in of the circle of mushrooms. The ground inside the mushrooms groaned and before he could hop safely out, the rotting boards underfoot snapped.

His one foot sank ankle deep into nothing, and then the rest of his body followed.

Down and down he fell, miles of stone, then dirt, then mud blurring before his eyes. Now he knew what the fuss was about. He was surely going to meet his real parents far, far sooner than he'd expected.

To his utmost surprise, the air seemed to whirl about him, as though he were inside a cyclone. He slowed down, and could see the worms burrowing through the soil. The whirlwind abated and he fell harmlessly on his bottom.

His hand, unfortunately, scraped against a large rock.

"Oh boy," Harry said, knowing that he was in deep, literally. Probably so deep that he was halfway to China. Oh boy.

Harry stood up and hollered and whooped. He looked up and the only thing he could see was a little circle of sky. It was a very tiny circle.

Gulping, Harry leaned into the wall. He knew very well that he should not have survived the fall, but it could take weeks for someone to find him. The Dursleys would not look for him even if they thought he'd run away. He would die of starvation.

A nip on his ear distracted him from his queasiness.

"You sstink of fear. What be the matter?" The snake raveled itself about his neck.

"I'm trapped in the well," Harry said. "I'm going to die here. I think you can get out if you go on the wall."

"I am no worm," the snake spat out in disgust. "But I think—yes, put me on the ground."

Harry did as the snake bid, and realized that he'd lost his glasses—not that it mattered, given the darkness of the well. He felt around for it as the snake coiled unto itself, and made a second, curious discovery. It felt like a button, only—only—there was more to the button. Harry's tiny hand closed around it and cold metal bit into his skin.

It was a key. A red flag waved in Harry's mind, but he had no time to jump onto that train of thought when the snake hissed to get Harry's attention. He shoved the key into his jeans.

"I ssense flowing," urged the snake. "Itss a way out. You mussst dig and go egggssactly the way I saysss."

Trusting in the snake's directions, Harry began scooping the soft earth and piling it behind him. He pocketed his glasses at some point. A pond began to form under him as he went deeper and deeper, using a chunk of wood from the lid of the well. The mud went up to his shoulders when he could press his cheek to the ground and put his arms through the hole he made.

"Go down to the flowing. Go in its direction," insisted the snake.

Only the fear of death powered him by this point. His arms were sore and did not have the strength to widen the meager hole he'd dug. However, he had strength enough to lift the big rock over his head and get out of the way as he dropped it on to the hole. Though his head spun, he could jump up and down on the rock until the ground once again collapsed under him, like a nightmare within a nightmare. Harry terribly hated those, but down he went.

* * *

A/N: Don't own anything. More coming soon.


	3. Chapter 3

He wished the Cat hadn't gone off into the night; he wouldn't have minded company, even if it minded him. The landlord of the Pink Palace Apartments was settling down for a well-earned cup of cocoa when he picked up on a strange tinkling sound. Cursing, he leaped to his feet and his head creaked and went crooked as he trained his ear on the sound. He really, really hoped it wasn't another pipe burst, or at least not a sewage pipe burst. After washing the motor oil off, he wasn't in the mood to wade in sludge.

The tinkling sound appeared to be coming from his bathroom, as steady and irksome as the water dripping from the faucet. He checked the sink pipe, but it was dry and intact, and making noises.

"What the heck?" Wybie Lovat exclaimed. As though the sound had an ear of its own, the tinkling grew more insistent to the point of rattling the sink pipe. Wybie dashed outside to close the valve for the waterworks to the Pink Palace, hoping that none of his tenants needed to flush. Then he returned to his bathroom and got to work with a wrench, taking apart the pipe.

A creepy wispy voice came from beneath. "H- help us." More of the tinkling, and then it eerily petered off.

"What do you want?" shouted Wybie, sounding rather squeaky for a man in his twenties.

"Up. I need to go up, sir," the wispy voice instructed. For a ghost, it was awfully polite.

With a prayer that he wasn't heading for a standard issue straight jacket, Wybie gathered supplies and bashed at the pipe in the floor after shouting a warning to the wispy voice to watch its head, if it had one. Then he took an axe to the floor, expecting to hit dirt. When he had a hole the size of his head, Wybie lowered his axe and waited. Cold, dank air whooshed in and a grimy child-sized hand waved limply at him.

Wybie screamed because he had seen something like this in Ringu, a movie about a demonic child coming out of the well to kill Japanese teenagers. "What are you? What do you want from me?"

"I'm Harry. Harry Potter. I fell into the well."

Oh God, Ringu.

"But I didn't watch any VHS tapes! I didn't get a phone call!" wailed Wybie. The victims killed in the movie at least got a phone call telling them of the monster's murderous intent.

A very pregnant pause ensued. "Um, I don't know what that means, but I've been trapped for hours. I just want to get back to the Pink Palace."

Wybie was rather offended by the barely polite tone it managed, as though it thought that Wybie was the insane one.

"This is the Pink Palace. Are you—" Wybie's jaw dropped. "Are you a tenant?"

"Yes. I just moved in. Nice to meet you. Can you get me out then?" The voice was very, very faint. It sounded like a kid's, now that Wybie listened closer. Unable to believe it, but unwilling to risk letting a kid stay trapped under his floor, Wybie took action.

"Okay, Harry. I need you to lie low because I am using an axe to get you out. Okay?"

"Righto," Harry said. Whatever else he said was lost on Wybie, who took to chopping up his floor in earnest.

When he finished, there was a hole that measured about a foot and a half in diameter. Wybie let the axe thud heavily to the floor. "Alright, you can, err, come up now."

The grimy hand reappeared, but it was (Wybie noted with relief) attached to a very dirty flannel sleeve. Harry poked his head out of the hole and kicked his feet to get all the way out. He found himself on the bathroom floor of a brown man with a bad slouch. The man's dusty hands twisted together as they made eye contact.

"Sorry about barging in," Harry murmured, then he put his head down and began dozing.

The kid was really very, very filthy and caked in what Wybie hoped was mud. Still, Wybie couldn't allow him to sleep on his floor.

He shook the kid. "Hey, wake up. You can't stay here." It was at least 2 in the morning, and Wybie couldn't go to sleep himself until he returned the kid. He thought of the hot cocoa that wasn't hot anymore and went to retrieve the mug and an overripe banana Wybie hadn't planned to eat. "Here, drink this."

The chocolate seemed to revive Harry and he sat up to wearily chew on the banana. Harry's answers were slow, but forthcoming to the many questions Wybie had for him.

"So you live upstairs, huh? The Dursleys," Wybie snorted. "Figures they'd lie about having kids. They can kiss their security deposit goodbye."

"I feel bad about your floor," Harry said, looking at the mangled spot with worry. "Uncle Vernon's going to kill me over the bill."

"I'm sure he won't mind paying it since you're okay," Wybie said, thinking of his late grandmother.

Harry shook his head emphatically. "If the well didn't kill me, he will."

"You fell down the old well?" Wybie repeated in amazement. "That thing goes down for miles. How did it not kill you?"

"I, uh, caught myself before the landing," Harry said, shakily. "It was a near thing."

"A miracle," Wybie muttered, then he stared hard at Harry. "Did you find anything down there, by any chance?"

Unnerved by Wybie's intense stare, Harry lied, without meaning to. "No, sir." The button-shaped key dug into his leg as he nervously shifted.

If anything, the stare turned into one of deep worry. "I was afraid of that." He sighed. "It's too late to call _her_ about it." Wybie rubbed at his upper arm as though bruised.

Harry's curiosity piqued, and he wanted to ask what was supposed to be at the bottom of the well. However, his landlord, Mr. Lovat or "Wybie", as it turned out to be, sank into an impenetrable silence after offering Harry the shower, old clothes, and the couch.

"It's too late to do anything else. Tomorrow, before I go to work, you're going back," Wybie said with certainty.

When Wybie was out of sight, Harry shoved both hands into his breast pocket and took out a sleeping snake. He felt the mystery of the well and now his neighbor, but the hour was too late to be tying up loose ends. As to the mystery of his survival, Harry had given up on explaining that one, chalking it up to the many impossible events that had colored his life.

He highly doubted Wybie would have believed him about the snake guiding him to Wybie's bathroom sink.

When Harry lifted his head groggily on the couch, many hours later, two very important things occurred to him: The snake and the key. He stuck the key in the muddy yellow boots. For the snake, he had it hide up his sleeve until he went up the stairs leading from Wybie's basement level.

Of course, the snake and the key quickly lowered in his priorities as Wybie rang the doorbell to the Dursley's flat.

"No solicitors!" barked Uncle Vernon as he cracked the door open. Then his eyes trained most unpleasantly on Harry. "You! What did you do now?"

"He's done nothing," Wybie said quickly. He folded his arms and drew himself to eye level with Vernon. It was odd how he suddenly exuded authority since he was dressed in grease-stained, shabby clothes and Uncle Vernon sported a tailored suit. "You, however, violated the terms of the lease, Mr. Dursley. If Harry wasn't a half-decent kid, I'd have you and your wife thrown out on your ears."

To Harry's utter astonishment, Uncle Vernon took a step back and opened the door. The way his fist formed promised a very bad hiding for Harry. "I'm going to be late for work."

Harry didn't miss the look of disgust on Wybie as Mr. Dursley's full girth blocked the way.

"PETUNIA!" Uncle Vernon cried. "The landlord's at the door! I'll call you at lunch, love."

Harry made a face as his uncle waddled past the both of them.

"I'd make a go at those stairs if I were you," Wybie muttered.

Harry didn't need to be told twice. Up he went, two at a time, despite the filthy bundle in his arms. His heart raced and his stomach dropped as he recalled lying to Wybie about the key digging into his left heel from its hiding spot. He would make it up to the man as soon as he survived the Dursley's.

Despite being tired from a fitful night of rest, Harry stopped at the banister and listened. Aunt Petunia was simpering, and her artificial niceties made him cringe. Yes, of course, Mr. Lovat would keep the security deposit. While she said those things, she did not invite him into the flat nor offer him tea.

It was so obvious to Harry that she'd say anything to make the landlord go away.

Wybie must have been satisfied with her answers or very late to his own job, because the latch on the front door clicked with finality. While Harry wasn't exactly shaking in his boots, he figured it was best to stay out of sight and out of mind while Petunia fumed.

When he'd made it to his sparse room, he found something extremely unpleasant on his cot.

"Where were you last night?" Dudley smirked. Harry was perplexed to see his cousin awake this early on a non-school day. He was very glad he'd released the snake into the wild.

"I got lost," Harry said. "No one noticed I went missing?"

"No, we didn't care," Dudley assured him.

"Get out of my room, Dudley." Harry kicked off the boots and shoved them under his cot. He sincerely hoped that his whale-like cousin wouldn't break his bed. "Aren't you missing Saturday morning toons?"

"I found something better than that," Dudley said, his nose in the air.

"And what's that?" Harry droned, refusing to show his annoyance at Dudley's intrusion.

Dudley pulled his arm from behind his back and before Harry knew it, a plump fist knocked into his ear.

Harry spun as he fell and landed on his side, his boxed ear ringing.

"That," Dudley huffed, out of breath from jiggling so much. "And this."

Harry looked and arched his brows. "Is that a stuffed pig in a wig?"

"No, it's me," Dudley drawled, in a long-suffering voice. "Cripes, you're dumber than… a dummy."

Now that Harry straightened his glasses and squinted, he could see the toy in Dudley's outstretched hand with much clarity. It was not exactly a pig in a wig, but a miniature flubby version of his cousin. The thing was so bloated with stuffing that its arms didn't fully come down at its waist. It had a patch of gold stuck to its head.

"Weird," said Harry. "Looks old, too."

"I found it," Dudley said, boastful. He puffed out his chest, and appeared to have gained ten pounds.

When Harry failed to appear suitably impressed, Dudley strode out and swung mini-Dudley at the back of Harry's head. The doll cuffed him and knocked his glasses off.

"That's one for mini-me," Dudley said, laughing as though he'd done something clever.

For Dudley, it was sort of clever.

Harry scowled and sulkily stared out of his window for a while. The view was not enticing what with the bland, gray sky and no residences close by. When Harry almost dozed off in his boredom, the screeching of wheels startled him awake.

Aunt Petunia was out, probably to get groceries. She was usually out for two hours. Excited at the idea of being home alone, Harry upended his boot. The key gleamed in his hand, despite its rusted black color.

It didn't lock any of the doors in his house, but the task kept him preoccupied for the better part of the morning. He almost forgot about his aunt until he heard the latch in the front door.

She must have had a great deal of groceries (which admittedly were needed between Vernon and Dudley's appetites) for she rang the bell. Reluctantly, knowing that he'd get scolded if no one opened the door, Harry opened it for her and resigned himself to carrying bags.

"I'll have a talk with you later," Aunt Petunia hissed at him. "We've lost hundreds of pounds thanks to you. Why couldn't you have stayed out of sight? No, no, put them in the parlor!" She continued in this vein as he lugged bag after bag inside.

As it turned out, they weren't filled with food at all. The bags contained paint, rolls of tarp, scrapers, and rollers with some assembly required.

"I want you to move all the furniture to the hall. As punishment, you will remove the ugly wallpaper and repaint the walls. First the primer, then the final coat. Mind the trimming. And don't think I won't notice if you spill any of it on the floor, Harry Potter. Make yourself useful!"

And to think, she was being lenient with him, too.

There was so much hauling to do that the gray clouds receded to an ominous purple by the time Harry had removed every conceivable furnishing and knick-knack out of the parlor and laid down the tarp. Taping it down, while minding the blasted trimmings, without an extra set of hands to hold things straight was an exercise in patience that no other 9 ¾ year olds had to endure.

However, Harry quickly forgot his exhaustion when the time came to rip away the wallpaper. He didn't even mind having to stand on a chair to get at the ceiling. Not only was destroying the walls unexpectedly therapeutic to his ruffled sense of justice, but he made his third and most useful discovery.

It was a door, and it was obviously built for kids, otherwise it wouldn't have been tiny.

With bated breath, Harry took the key from his pocket and put it into the lock. He turned the key.

"Dinner!" Aunt Petunia called, breezing by the door. She was probably looking for Dudley.

At the sound of her voice, Harry snatched at the key and stuck it into his jeans, or rather, the jeans he'd gotten from Wybie. It was a good fit, so he'd had to wedge the key into his front pocket.

He had a sense of doing something he really wasn't supposed to. It was wonderful. With a look of hunger and regret, Harry went away from the door.

* * *

A/N: That's right, guys. Everyone's favorite person to hate will be making a cameo in the very near future. Don't own a thing. Not Coraline, Potter, or The Ring.


	4. Chapter 4

It all started with Dudley refusing to eat.

"Bacon again?" he said snottily, turning up his nose.

"You love bacon," Aunt Petunia blurted, gripping the spatula with both hands. She looked imploringly at Uncle Vernon who was paying more attention to the Business section in the paper than his obstinate son.

"My better mother let me eat all the cheeseburgers and tater tots I wanted," Dudley said, pushing his loaded plate away and standing up. "Then I had chocolate milkshake."

He collected the miniature version of himself that he'd taken to toting around and for the first time in living history, went without a meal.

"Wait, sweetie-pie, what are you going to do all day?" Petunia called after him.

"I'm watching the telly," Dudley said. "The one with the good picture. My better father got it for me after my better mother served me breakfast."

Aunt Petunia glared at Harry as he stuck his fork into the untouched portions, but she kept quiet, worried that Dudley's lack of appetite was an early onset of sickness.

"Do something, Vernon!" Petunia said.

Vernon reluctantly put down the paper and scowled at Harry digging into Dudley's plate.

"Eat all of it, boy. Don't waste my money," Vernon rumbled, then the numbers for drills distracted him.

Petunia frowned and hovered over Vernon's shoulder. "Darling, his talk about a better mother and a better father was… According to Dr. Lipschitz, this could be a cry for help."

Harry did his very best not to snort into the eggs. What amounted to a cry for help from Dudley was asking for a hiding in Harry's sore experience. Harry knew very well that if he had talked about things that weren't strictly true, he'd have his ears boxed and get locked into the cupboard for three days.

"You, why aren't you done painting the parlor?" Vernon groused. "Be grateful that you're working for your bacon and rashers."

From years of navigating the Dursleys' tempers, Harry knew better than to point out that he was too young and too small to be painting a spacious room all by himself.

"Furthermore, I don't want you hanging around that nigger. You're too lazy without his help," his uncle said. "In better times, we would never rent with riff raff, but a man's gotta do what's necessary for this family."

Harry, knuckles white, put his fork down..

Without another word, for fear of speaking his mind, Harry shuffled into the parlor. He wore the gigantic hand-me-downs from Dudley, not wanting to get paint on the properly sized clothes that Wybie had given him. He knew for a fact that Wybie wasn't lazy and not at all like the riff raff Dudley used to flock with.

Wybie was constantly fixing things around the apartments on the weekend, his only time off from his day job. Though he was awkward to talk to in normal circumstances, he was nice enough. More importantly, Wybie was a mystery. From what Harry gathered, Wybie was technically an adult, but too young to have graduated university. If Harry had Dursley's manners, he would have asked Wybie why he wasn't in school.

It was the work of at least two hours to properly coat the ceiling, but it was done. Head spinning from the smell of paint, Harry took a breather on the porch, glad for the cold wind that took the chemicals out of his nose.

Someone's engine roared up the drive, and Harry's eyes naturally snapped to the source of the commotion. Wybie disengaged and lurched off of his motorcycle. He tugged down the kerchief tied around his nose and mouth and zipped down his leather jacket.

Harry thought he looked kind of cool.

"What's up Potter? You're too small to be looking all hung over," Wybie said. "Which you do, by the way."

"I'm not, just feeling sick," Harry said. "Is your washroom okay again?"

"Yeah, it's fine. Actually, I ended up taking longer because the beams were rotten," Wybie said, then he dove into a blow-by-blow description of how he replaced his floor and at what cost. Harry squirmed at the amount of money though Wybie had mentioned using the Dursley's security deposit.

"Wouldn't it have been easier to get a repairman?" Harry asked.

"Definitely, but I finished it at a fraction," Wybie said.

There was a lull in their exchange, and Harry really badly wanted to ask him.

"Don't worry about it, Harry. It's like another day at work for me to fix things."

"Um," Harry said, losing his nerve. "I like your motorcycle."

"Thanks," Wybie said. His gaze shifted to the corner of the house. "If you don't mind me asking, are you a—a foster kid or something? You're not Harry Dursley so…"

"I live with my aunt and uncle. Those people aren't my real parents," Harry said with much feeling.

"Just- just checking." Wybie's hands twisted together again. "Hey, if you ever need to take cover or just plain old talk about stuff. I mean, I was a foster kid before a social worker got into contact with my grandmother, so… yeah…"

"Thank you," said Harry, feeling oddly touched. Feeling emboldened, he finally said what was really on his mind. "If you've lived here for a long time, do you know what's behind the door?"

"What door? There's plenty of them in this dump," Wybie said, closing up again.

"It's the door that's in the parlor," Harry said. "Where does it go?"

"Uh, well," Wybie fidgeted and hemmed and hawed. As though he recalled a very fuzzy memory, he said very slowly, "It's bricked up; doesn't go anywhere."

"Did you ever open it?" asked Harry before Wybie could spring the same question.

"Me? Personally? No, I couldn't. But, um, the last person here did. She said that it was all bricks. Funny you should ask cuz I talked to her not too long ago. I need to go feed my Cat now, bye."

Harry waved, and did his best not to stare at Wybie's back. The two mysteries in his head had merged into a gigantic question mark. What Wybie said about the bricks was true. Harry had been extremely disheartened to hit a wall when he opened the door. However, he sensed that Wybie hadn't told him everything.

But Wybie did give him a clue. The name "Coraline" had jolted into his mind and it had taken him everything not to blurt it out. Knowing that he shouldn't "laze around", Harry went inside and up to his room. Not too long ago, he'd made the startling discovery that the window seats popped up. He wasted no time in storing the coat, boots, clothes, and, most importantly, the faded receipt that he'd found the first day they'd moved into the Pink Palace.

And not a day sooner, as Petunia swept through the place, shrieking about rat poop.

His heart beats spiked as he reviewed the badly written poem about Coraline. It was little more than a laundry list, but his mind highlighted the important words: The Key, the Doll, mice, little door, trap.

The rest of the poem was rubbish, but the meaning cut through Harry's curiosity. He was going to be caught up in something very bad—worse than the bottom of the well—if he did not lock the door. He hadn't really seen the point of locking a bricked-up door, but a gnawing feeling in his gut propelled him to action.

Though all was still in the flat, Harry rushed to the parlor and jerked the key from where it dangled around his neck. Not caring about smudging the paint job, he stabbed the lock and twisted with all his might.

His heart seemed to restart itself and his hands were clammy with sweat and paint but the door was locked. The danger was over. Tonight, he would sneak out to the well and throw the Key back. Then he would re-copy the awful poem onto a proper sheet of paper and leave it for the next people.

If it hadn't been written on a receipt, of all things, Harry might have seen the signs sooner. It wouldn't be a bad idea to add pictures, either.

His light heart was furthered buoyed by the special dinner Petunia had whipped up for Dudley: lobster. True, Petunia loaded his plate with the parts that weren't as meaty, but the bits he could get tasted buttery and good. After setting the table, he devoured most of his helpings in the time it took for Petunia to go up the stairs and get Dudley to leave his room.

"Harry," Petunia said sternly when she returned. She made a face as Harry shoveled the last bite into his mouth before she took away his plate. "Have you seen Dudders? He isn't playing outside, is he?"

The idea of Dudley getting exercise of his own free will was unthinkable. "No, he said he wanted to watch the telly."

"First breakfast, now dinner." Petunia pursed her lips and stationed herself at the sink, peeking out the window. At Number 4 Privet Drive, she had done the very same thing to spy on the neighbors. For hours, broken up by fussing and cleaning.

Now was no different, only Harry felt a bit jealous. At any moment, Dudley would stomp in and indifferently accept the proffered meal.

"Have you finished?" Petunia asked. She took his plate and compulsively washed it before he could answer. "Make yourself useful. Go outside and tell Dudley dinner's ready." Her tone brooked no argument.

As he expected, Dudley was nowhere in sight. Not in the orchard stealing apples or up the hill throwing rocks at things, nor plugging up the well with his doughy waistline. Harry shivered outside for a good hour, more than a little cross at being kicked out of the house after dark.

However, things came to a head when he went inside and Uncle Vernon was on the phone and Aunt Petunia, her face like stone, sat on edge beside him.

"Yes, yes. We think he's run away. Dudley's maybe four or five feet tall…"

Petunia's face seemed to crack as she took the receiver into her hands. "My son is four feet and five and one-quarter in inches. He was about ninety-nine point seven five pounds but had a growth spurt."

She paused, as though listening intently. A red blotch spread from her nose to her cheeks. "It had better be easy to find him, officer. I'm sure you intended that statement as a comfort."

Aunt Petunia proceeded to give the officer filing the missing persons report such a dressing down about "insensitivity", as though forgetting that police were armed with guns and sticks for beating people.

Apparently the one on the phone forgot they had guns and sticks for beating people when faced with a mother like Petunia. She hung up with the last word, but no satisfaction shone in her face.

"Nothing?" she asked Harry. When he shook his head, she shooed him off as though carrying a great weight on her stick-like arm. "Just go away then. I don't care where."

Harry quietly padded away from the kitchen into the parlor. For a long time, he stared at the little door. While he didn't care to risk his neck for his cousin, he knew that to do nothing would make him guilty, wrong, and possibly evil. However, he was not going to do it blindly.

With much trepidation, Harry went into the chilly night and descended.

He knocked once politely, and waited, folding his hands under his arms.

"Potter! What's… uh… unless it's an emergency, would you mind coming back in an hour or…" Wybie's hair was more wild than usual, more out of sorts than Harry's, and that was saying something. He was also out of breath.

"It's an emergency," Harry said firmly. "But I will come back in an hour if you're busy."

"Who's the twerp?" It was a girl. She shouldered Wybie aside and crossed her arms.

"You're Coraline," Harry blurted. "Blue of hair. Are you his girlfriend?"

With a menacing deliberation, Coraline raised her hand into the air and flexed. "Why-Were-You-Bourne Lovat, have you been telling people we're—"

"No!" Wybie squirmed, putting a hand over his shoulder. "I didn't even tell him your name, Jonesy. How does he even know who you are?"

Adults. So wrapped up in themselves. Harry snapped the string around his neck and dangled the key in plain view.

"My cousin's been kidnapped," Harry said.

Coraline grabbed at it and looked around wildly, as though expecting something to leap out from the bushes. Both of her hands curled over the length of the key, exposing only the button. She glared at it hard. "Start talking, kid."

As Harry was ushered inside, he was struck not by the anger on both Coraline and Wybie's faces, but by the blank look that Wybie shot at him before the interrogation began.

* * *

A/N: Oh, Harry's in for it, but not as badly as Dudders. Next up! La Beldam! Don't own Coraline, HP, or Rugrats.


	5. Chapter 5

"Where did you really get the key?" Coraline questioned him.

Harry decided that he didn't like her, especially the way she phrased the same question with different words. She apparently believed that he was leaving out important details. Admittedly, he'd left out the bit about the talking snake.

"At the bottom of the well near a really big rock," Harry said.

"Likely story. Me and Wybie used to drop acorns down the hole in the lid. You know how long it took before we heard it reach the bottom?"

Without pausing for breath, she continued, "Almost ten seconds. A person can leap off the Empire State Building and go kersplat in less than that."

He wasn't entirely sure where that was, but he was not to be deterred. "I don't care about any of that. I want to rescue my pig cousin and get out. Can you at least tell me what I'm up against?"

"The Other Mother," Wybie said, before Coraline's fist could fly. "She eats kids."

Coraline's fist went flying anyway. "Hey! I'm telling the story! Who's the one who fought her?"

"Who's the one who smashed her hand?" Wybie griped.

"How did you beat her?" Harry asked.

"As I was saying," Coraline said, which wasn't right. As far as Harry could follow, she hadn't told him a useful thing.

"There is only one key. One door. To get out, you need to play along with her games and trick her into letting you go. Otherwise, she wouldn't, not in a million years."

A very sorry looking black cat padded into the room. It hissed at Harry and leaped gracefully onto Coraline's lap. She petted it fondly. "It helps to have allies. This is Cat. He helped me escape. It was him who told me about the Other Mother's evil nature."

"We have to get your cousin as soon as possible. If he caves and lets her sew the buttons, he's a goner." Coraline seemed to think of something. "Where are your pliers, Wybie?"

"You're not going back Jonesy. It's Potter's fight." Wybie said very calmly. When she looked about to argue, he continued. "You wouldn't let me go in when she took your parents."

"They were my parents! And she trapped them in a world that was made for me! I'm the only one who's beaten her!" Coraline exclaimed.

"Yeah, my point exactly. She's probably changed a bunch of things so it's not your world anymore!"

"Doi, but going by that logic, then we leave Harry's cousin to duke it out for himself. Which he can't since Harry locked him in with the monster." Her brown eyes turned briefly from their bickering. "What sort of crap impresses Dudley, by the way?"

"TV, computer games, and food," Harry said. "He also likes getting presents."

Disgust twisted Coraline's face. "What a brat. At least when I was a brat, I wasn't bought by material things."

"So I made a brilliant point, as usual," Wybie said, smirking. "If your cousin's into that electronic stuff, we could end up in an arcade."

"Or in a pinball machine!" Coraline exclaimed, shuddering. She yelped as the cat dug its claws into her lap. "What the frig?"

It bounded under the table and as far as Harry could see, it disappeared.

"Where did the Cat go?" Harry asked, perplexed. He crouched down and waggled his arm to feel for it.

"Good kitty," Coraline said, smiling. "When he comes back, he'll give us a heads up. Let's get ready. Weapons, snacks, flashlights… " She threw an impatient look at Wybie. "Where's your headlamp? The kind that dwarves wear?"

"You're not going in there," Wybie repeated. He grabbed her upper arms. "You're not a kid anymore. She might just kill you. I'm totally vetoing this one."

"What about you? It's not like she wants you either," Coraline argued, going pink in the face.

"I'm staying put," Wybie said. "This house is under my name. If I disappear, it'll probably get knocked over or burned down."

"But that would kill her."

"It might not," Wybie said grimly. "If it's the one door keeping her under wraps, I don't want to mess with it. My grandmother turned out to be a gatekeeper against the Other Mother."

All three nearly jumped out of their skin when the Cat meowed.

"Back so soon? Could you get in?"

The Cat meowed; from the way Coraline and Wybie nodded to each other, that must have been a yes.

"Is there anything outside of the house?" Coraline asked, and the Cat ignored her.

"Did she sew the buttons on him?"

In response, the Cat meowed and then it melted into the shadows underneath the table.

"Let's just get this over with," Harry grumbled. "Can I have the Key back?"

"No," Wybie and Coraline said.

"I call dibs on it." Coraline tucked it into her jacket. "Here's how we're going to do this. Harry goes in first since she's probably expecting him. I come in next. Wybie, you have to guard the open door. Make sure she doesn't lure in the parents."

"Fine, whatever," Wybie said, seeing that the years hadn't changed her stubborn nature whatsoever. "Let me grab the master key."

It was a good thing Wybie had thought of that. The Dursleys hadn't bothered giving Harry a regular key.

"What's going on? Who's that?" Uncle Vernon rolled partly off the chair to stand defiantly against the intrusion.

"We're, uh, here for the um rat crap!" Coraline exclaimed. "There's been complaints from everyone."

"You don't look like an exterminator," Uncle Vernon stated suspiciously. As expected, his eyes roved distastefully over her unusually blue hair.

"She's here to clean up if I find the rats," Wybie said.

"There have been droppings," Aunt Petunia said. "Let them do their job. I don't care as long as they don't make a mess."

"Where have I heard that before?" Coraline muttered. Wybie shushed her and they exited the kitchen.

Harry noticed that Wybie was throwing weird sideways looks at him. When Wybie saw that he had Harry's attention, his eyes would flick to Coraline and he would rub at a spot above his hip.

He did it so many times that Harry wondered if Wybie had a nervous tic. However, as Coraline fit key to lock, Harry figured it out.

"NOW!" Wybie shouted. He tackled Coraline to the floor in a bear hug.

Harry snatched the key and lunged through the tunnel expanded before him. It looked rather pretty with the green and blue lights shifting around it. He shut the door after himself and locked it. From the other side, he could hear Coraline's frustrated screeching and her attempts to force open the little door.

After Harry got his bearings, he took his sad looking sneakers off. He tucked the key into one of the sneakers, but laced both of them tightly as far up as they could go.

Harry suspected that as soon as he found himself on the dangerous side of the door, he was going to do a lot of running. He really wasn't looking forward to dealing with scarier versions of the Dursleys. The first original pair had been traumatizing enough.

He nudged open the little door and was puzzled to find himself back in the parlor. Except that this parlor was decorated with plush couches and a roaring fire in the chimney. A big, red couch rotated. There was a man and a woman seated on it, with perfect smiles pasted on their rosy faces.

"Welcome home, Harry," the man said. "Your mom and I have waited for you for a long time." He looked like a grown up version of Harry, except for the eyes, of course. His hair was black and messy and his brown button eyes gleamed kindly behind askew glasses.

"Are you hungry?" the woman asked. "I haven't had much time to cook, but I can whip up stew or shepherd's pie in a flash." She looked a bit like Aunt Petunia in the face, only prettier. Her hair was not in a blond coif but fell in soft, red waves. Everything else about her was soft, especially her sweet voice.

"Who are you?" Harry asked, although he knew the answer.

"We're your real parents," the woman said.

She extended her arms, and Harry froze up.

The man who was supposedly Harry's father made the decision for him. He put Harry into a headlock and lugged the boy over to his wife. "Don't be a stranger. Go hug your mom, Harry." The first impression that Harry had of his father was a plushly knit sweater vest and his father's thin but strong arms. He used his wiry arms to twirl Harry in the air. Harry's breath caught in his throat, but he secretly liked the feeling of both feet off the ground.

"Come here," she said, and gave him a good squeeze. Though her fuzzy green sweater and her hair tickled his nose, Harry didn't pull away. Based on Coraline and Wybie's horror stories, the Other Mother was supposed to be cold and, like, an android without the fleshy bits.

She was warm and smelled like flowers. "See, I don't bite. Do you want stew or pie?"

"Pie sounds good," Harry said.

"Great! He has my tastes," said the Dad. "After you eat your vegetables, we can toss around a ball, see if you've got my arm. Would you like that?"

"Oh, yes," Harry said. Somehow they were both holding his hand and leading him out of the parlor. An unseen force slid the parlor doors shut, but Harry didn't notice as his parents lifted their arms high in the air and caused Harry to swing back and forth like a monkey.

* * *

A/N: Don't own a thing. This is for crossover-lover, who is probably my only reader. I love your anti-Beldam comments. Rest assured that Harry is loved.


	6. Chapter 6

"What have you done? What are you doing?" Coraline was a blur of peach and blue as he let her go and let her fly at him with her temper.

"I was helping Potter," Wybie said. "You were getting in over your head, and someone had to stop you."

"You were helping her! She has two of them, for the price of one. Two of them! She could live another century if she wants to," Coraline spat at Wybie.

They were both sprawled with no dignity in a bare room that smelled heavily of chemical. The walls were the color of overcooked meat, but neither of them noticed, caught in a battle of wills.

"I trust him Jonesy," Wybie said. He got up and folded his arms, and then unfolded them because he'd learned it from her. "Besides, it's not like we're doing nothing."

"I could kill you," she said. "You don't make any sense."

Someone made a strange throat noise. "I heard shouting. I understand that this is your property and you're getting at rats, but my wife and I are right now waiting for news of our son. I will box you out of here if you don't quit the racket."

Wybie Lovat and Coraline Jones noticed that Mr. Dursley outweighed the both of them, and they'd be sorry if he made good on his word.

"Sorry. We, uh, saw a really really big one go through that door."

"Yeah," Wybie said, "I'll be back soon to seal it off. Bit of plaster should do the trick. We do, however, need access to the rest of the house to get all the rats."

"Stay out of our bedrooms," Vernon said. "We don't need any more outbursts."

"Of course, Mr. Dursely," Wybie said. He turned to Coraline and continued, "Let's try the upstairs. Maybe we could get more leads."

They went up the stairs quietly, and Wybie sighed in relief that Coraline went along with him instead of getting them kicked off of his own land.

They headed into one of the boys' rooms, hoping to find clues about the Other Mother. The first door they opened was filled almost to the ceiling with boxes. However, these weren't storage boxes. These boxes were stacked in totem poles of color and ribbon. A banner with the word SURPRISE! glittered for some unknown, happy celebration.

"Dudley's room?" Coraline quipped drily. She scuffed her foot and toed at a decadent pyramid of little boxes. There was something gratifying about knocking it over.

"Probably. I don't see the Dursleys knocking themselves out for Potter."

"I don't get it," Coraline said. "Why would the Other Mother abduct Dudley? She baits and lures unhappy children. His parents must have mortgaged something to buy him all this junk."

"Maybe Dudley was unhappy," Wybie said. He poked his head into a closet and an overflowing toy chest. "Whoa. If this is Toy Land, I just found the graveyard."

Coraline went over to the big case of toys and picked up a Jack forever sundered from his box and a BB rifle bent up like a pipe cleaner. "Hmm, someone needs anger management. Did you ever talk to the kid?"

"Nah," Wybie said. "I only ever saw Potter going outside. But with the way that his aunt and uncle are mean to him, I don't blame him. Used to do the same thing."

"Could you not make this about you?" Coraline asked, dumping the evidence into the toy chest. "This is stupid. We're not finding anything."

"Hold on, that's not fair. How did I make this about me?" Wybie demanded.

"You are so hung up on your granny," Coraline said. "When she was alive, you always bailed on me if she called. It's been, like what, two years and you don't do much outside of her house."

"Not everyone's got parents paying fees for uni," Wybie said quietly.

"Bull," Coraline spat. "I have to work part time doing customer service to scrape up rent, and drag my butt in school for hand-outs."

"And besides," Coraline argued. "You're more suited for trade school. At least get your certs so you can upgrade your wages."

"I already told you, Jonesy, I can't afford—"

"You're not listening! I asked you to come with me—"

"Shut the hell up already! I don't need this right now. We are trying to save lives here." Wybie gave the overflowing toy chest a sound kick in his combat boots. A random screw clinked to the floor, followed by a disturbing groaning noise.

The four sides of the toy chest collapsed and a minor avalanche of plastic and plush followed.

"Uh, maybe we should look for evidence in Potter's room," Coraline said, her heart racing from Wybie's angry outburst more than anything.

"Yeah, good idea," Wybie muttered. He slouched and backed out of the room, checking if the coast was clear of Dursleys, especially the bigger Dursley.

"Ah hah!" Wybie heard. He turned to look at his friend and saw that she was holding her prize high in the air.

"We meet again, you button-eyed fiend," Coraline almost cooed. "Consider yourself a prisoner of war."

Wybie blinked and his jaw dropped at the sight of a doll that was almost swimming in flannel and denim. "That looks like…"

"Harry!" They echoed each other.

"So she was after him all along. Then she's expecting him. Great going, Wybourne." Coraline scooted past him, shoving mini-Harry into his chest.

"But wait, she took Dudley first."

"You don't get it, do you?" Coraline asked almost loftily. She skipped into the next room and stopped because it was her old room, and it managed to be more dank and barren than she'd ever seen it, even when she'd had to resort to a sleeping bag the first couple of weeks.

She immediately went to the window seats and popped them up. She was surprised to see her old swampers. The mud on them, however, looked new. She rummaged through her matching coat, sad to find the pockets empty.

"You sound almost happy about it," Wybie said, coming in after her.

"I'm not happy about it," Coraline said firmly. "Just gratified that after all these years, I know what that witch's game is. We don't have to worry about Harry, not for a while, at least."

"And why's that?" Wybie asked. He seemed a bit more cooled down.

"Think. When she's not trapping kids, she goes years and years doing nothing but scheming. Then I come along and mess up her system by releasing the ghosts. She's weak as hell from that, on top of missing her next meal—me."

"After the Dursleys and Harry move in, she can take her pick of which kid she wants." Then Wybie's mouth formed into a sudden "oh" as the gears turned in his head. "She wants—"

"Yeah," Coraline said grimly. "The Cat told me that creatures like her want something to love, or would love something to eat."

"By giving her Harry, she's got something to love," concluded Coraline.

"Dudley is a butterball if I ever saw one," Wybie said. "I guess he's her idea of a steak."

Coraline grabbed the doll from Wybie and stuck its head on the brim of the hidden compartment at the windows before slamming the lid down firmly. The headless toy fell to the floor with a satisfying thump.

"I don't suppose she might have choked on him and died?"

"No such luck," Coraline said darkly. She plucked the head from inside the compartment and began playing hacky-sack with it, kicking it from Converse to Converse. "I hope this gives her a headache."

"I hate to give it to you, Jonesy, but I think you just figured out how to help Harry."

"Like how?" Coraline asked, distracted from the volley she had going. The plush head rolled about, shedding puffs every which way.

Wybie picked up the head and snapped off both buttons. "Can the doll hear us?"

"I guess," Coraline said. She put the plush head into another compartment, away from her childhood relics and discovered a familiar piece of paper. "Oh, hey, how'd this pop up here?"

"What's that?"

"It's my warning to any kid who would move in here," Coraline said, rolling her eyes. "If Harry went in there after reading THIS, then he's a real idiot. Or is it a guy thing to ignore directions?"

Wybie grabbed it from her, and put a great tear in the middle that had Coraline scowling. "Oops."

Coraline grabbed one half while Wybie flicked his eyes over the other half.

"Writing skills clearly skipped a generation," Wybie chuckled. "You rhymed guess with pest?"

Coraline blushed, and was really glad she had the other half.

"Let me read the rest of it," Wybie said, grinning. He was glad to know how Harry had known her name.

This time, she was expecting the tackle. It was a matter of life and limb that Wybie never, ever read the whole thing.

Unfortunately, he was quicker and shut the door and planted himself quite firmly in the way of her only exit.

"No secrets between friends," Wybie said.

Coraline promptly tore up the receipt and tossed the confetti into Wybie's look of grudging defeat. She grinned in triumph.

"Fine, be that way," he sulked. Wybie slumped into his usual posture and Coraline good-naturedly punched the resulting hunch.

"So what brilliant idea did you have about bailing out Harry?"

He told her, and they got to work in Wybie's bedroom. Wybie cracked the buttons into halves, then quarters. They had eight pieces to work with.

"I hate to say it, but I'm glad you're such a geek," Coraline said. "Who else would hook up three screens on their PC to cheat on their online games?"

"It's not cheating," Wybie huffed. "Sometimes my raiding parties need a boost, okay?"

"Let's see," Coraline hummed. "Movies. Movies will definitely distract her. Definitely indie films. If we split three screens to six windows of movies, we cover six of her eyes. What do we do with the remaining two?"

He shoved her off of his computer. "What the hell are you doing? You're cluttering my hard drive!"

"Do you want to distract her or not?" Coraline hissed. "I want to give her seizures!"

"Yeah, distract her by making her see eight different things! Like flushing some of her eyes or putting them right up to bright lights."

"That's kid's stuff!" she argued. "We have to play dirty!"

"Then I'll set it up," Wybie said firmly.

"Fine," Coraline conceded, and then she brightened. "I'll take care of the other two pieces."

His ruffled protect instincts over his PC settled down when she flushed one-eight of the doll's eyes down the toilet and taped another inside a lamp shade. This was almost a compliment, coming from her.

"I hope you do know what you're doing Potter," Wybie muttered.

He watched in bemusement when Coraline started yelling things point-blank into the doll's ear. Coraline had quite a mouth and a vocabulary on her, but she had nothing on his grandmother, whose voice once projected in five counties.

"Hey Wybie, let's play some of your death metal," Coraline grinned as she plugged in headphones sitting harmlessly on the doll's ear.

* * *

A/N: Just an interlude. Next time will be Harry-centric. So that thing I said about having one reader, I totally take it back. Thanks for making me eat my words. Thank you so much for your encouragement. Updates will slow down but I am determined to finish before the month is out!


	7. Chapter 7

Harry hadn't quite forgotten where he was. He was at a dining table in a dining room with bizarre walls. More importantly, he was on the other side of the door and possibly making the worst mistake of his brief, young life. But he couldn't help it that he was shoveling down food prepared by the better mother.

"Nom," Harry murmured as he crammed down a sizable hunk of chicken that was still clearly steaming. Such a tasty mistake he was making. If there was poison in the sauce, at least he would die on a happy stomach. Or maybe, they were fattening him up.

"My, you grew up fast!" his button-eyed dad exclaimed. "Slow down, rascal! You're puttin' me to shame." His dad was only halfway through his portion of shepherd's pie.

"Poor darling," the mom cooed. She picked up her napkin and cupped Harry's chin to wipe at the crumbs. "Doesn't your aunt ever feed you?"

Going pink in the ears, Harry loosened the fork clenched roughly in his hand and willed himself to chew before gulping his forkfuls. "Sorry. Aunt Petunia doesn't cook anything like this," he sheepishly admitted. "Well, sometimes, when Uncle Vernon has his bosses come over, but I'm to stay under the stairs, no funny business."

She reached her hand out and ran it through his hair, which embarrassed him enough that he tried to duck out of her reach.

"None of that now," the dad said sternly at the mom, before cracking a wide grin at Harry. "Imagine our son shy. Shy!"

Despite the dad's light teasing, the mom didn't stop frowning. "I don't know how long you've been with those people, but you're not going back to them. They will never put you under the stairs ever again."

Seeing that all of their plates were empty, the mom sprang from her chair and almost instantly had them piled up neatly. She removed the domed cover on a platter, which had a chocolate cake neatly centered on a doily. As the mom pushed the chocolate cake to Harry, candles sprouted from the pink frosting and the cake began writing on itself! In green icing, Harry read the looping words: "Happy Birthday, Harry."

"How did- I forgot my birthday. How did you know?"

"I'm your mother," she said, tapping his nose. "Don't be silly, of course I'd know."

"She knows you like the back of her hand," said the dad.

"What are you waiting for, silly? Make a wish, and then we can have a proper celebration. Cake, presents, then games," the mom said, her button eyes flashing. Her fingers, each nail curved and red, drummed impatiently on the table.

Harry was briefly mesmerized by her long fingers, but then the dad, looking as though someone had glued a bright red cone to the his head, fastened a similar golden party cone on Harry's head. "Go on, Harry."

The mom started up the birthday song. "Happy birthday to you..."

"Ack! Uh, birthday dear Harry, Happy..." And she'd kicked the dad into joining her, by the sounds of it.

Harry closed his eyes in earnest before puffing up his cheeks and snuffing the candles at one go. Not only did the flames go out, but so did the candles, blinking out of existence as though they'd never been. He opened his eyes to the parents standing at each of his shoulders and clapping.

"Did you make a wish, darling?" the mom asked. She had produced three miniature plates, and cut a generous slice. Harry pushed his forward to assist her, partly to make it easier on her and partly out of greed. He was a bit surprised that she ignored him and plated the dad's plate first. This upset him, slightly. Until the mom pushed the rest of the cake at him.

"Whoa, all for me?" Harry squeaked.

"I decided not to risk it," the mom said, smiling knowingly.

"I'm not that hungry anymore," Harry muttered. "I can't finish this whole thing."

"At least a bite," the mom said. "I baked it myself, with love."

The first bite, and the third, and the final one that topped off his grossly sated appetite all went down agreeably, what with the caramel center. This cake could have taken Miss Figg's stale chocolate biscuits and kicked them around the block. As he finished, Harry felt a bit self conscious with how eagerly they watched him eat. This was way more attention than he got with the Dursleys, and it was positive attention, too. Whenever Harry had this much attention, his ears and arms usually were sore from being twisted.

"Done?"

In response, Harry put down his fork. The dad promptly shoved a little box onto the table, with enough force to knock the cake on to the floor. "Oops-y," the dad trilled. "Open it, Harry! But don't..."

Harry put his finger on it as the dad trailed off weakly,"...touch. Woo hoo hoo!" It looked like a baseball, only the stitching shined a deep golden color.

Knife-like wings popped out of the stitches, and then the baseball flew out of the box in moments. Its wings buzzed so crazily that when it collided with the leftover cake, frosting and caramel mucked the chandelier and the walls. Then, unbelievably, the baseball flew into the wallpaper, and kept going. Right into the blue sky-like part of the wallpapering and gone in brush-stroked clouds.

Harry smiled sheepishly at his dad, who placed his thoroughly pink frosted glasses on top of his frosted hair to look at the mother.

The mother pursed her lips in a way that strongly reminded Harry of Petunia. "You're going to have to clean this up, Harry."

Moments later, Harry was up in the air and in the wallpaper. He was flying on, of all things, a broomstick and became very pleased with himself as he was better than his dad at it. Much better. Another burst of speed put him too far ahead to hear his dad's whooping.

Far below, Harry could see a speck that was the mother. She was demurely seated on a chair that rode on thousands of bristles that left a shining trail of foam. When Harry bothered skimming the ground on his broomstick, she tried to hit him with a cannon that fired bubbles the size of footballs and smelled like anything but soap. To tease her, Harry had rolled in the scum of the foam trail and took off so fast (that a Harry-shaped bubble boy lingered briefly) that she couldn't force cleanliness on him.

The only Dursley who interacted with Harry when he cleaned was Dudley, and that was to dunk Harry's head into the toilet bowl while the little boy scrubbed.

Eventually, Harry was too soaped up to properly catch hold of the winged baseball, and the dad used that to his advantage, stealing back the baseball and throwing it at Harry repeatedly. Then Harry was too slippery to hold on to the broom and he fell off at hundreds and thousands of miles (or however many miles it took for a small boy to fall from the stars) to a purple lake below.

Before Harry hit the water, he was grabbed by his ankle and watched his wobbly taped glasses splash.

Rather than letting Harry up onto the broom, the dad maneuvered his broom slowly back and forth until he swung Harry in gentle arcs. "I seem to remember a shiny new 10 year old boy telling his old man to eat scum."

"Who me?" Harry cried, oddly taking joy in being dangled helplessly. It was fun to relax his arms and feel them go and go. "I'm going to throw up!" Harry declared quite happily.

"Say that I'm the best, and I'll let you go scott-free. Maybe."

"I'm the beeeeeeeeeessst..."

"Off with you then."

He was dropped unceremoniously to his purple doom.

Harry's assumption that the lake would be full of water was, like most assumptions, extremely wrong. The purple was actually a huge colony of jelly fish, or rather, fish that bent and wiggled around him and complained about the soap. One of them jammed his glasses back onto his face. The colony of fishy jellies unanimously swam away from him, which caused a huge, jiggly tunnel to form around Harry, permitting him to fall away from them.

Harry landed in his bed just in time for the door to open.

"I thought you might be sleepy. Can I tuck you in?" asked the mother. She wore a long and white and pretty dress and her red hair was tied to the side with a black ribbon.

"How did I...?" Harry looked down at himself and saw that he was in jammies, with dinosaurs and planets fighting each other.

"Shhh..." The mother hushed him. "You'll need your rest for playing tomorrow."

"But we played today," Harry whispered. His voice was hoarse from so much.

"No darling, we cleaned," she said. She pulled on a string that dangled from the bed post and a blanket glided on down. Harry could feel her long nails poking him as she tucked the covers snugly around him. With utmost care, the mother plucked the glasses from his head and set them on the nightstand. Again, Harry was helpless and blind, but it was soothing to feel his back realign itself against such a soft bed and be aware only of the lullaby she hummed.

"La la... dreaming... dreaming of...la la la la..."

Though he didn't ask her to, the mother sat in her chair and asked him if he wanted a story.

"No," Harry breathed. "I want to stay forever."

She halted and he could hear her fingers clicking on the arm of the chair. Through his reduced sight, he couldn't see her buttons.

"That's what I wished for," he said, in a smaller voice. "Candles."

Now would have been the perfect time to sleep, and be out before she would break the news to him and send him packing. But there was fear in him, hard and small and fluttering its bent-up wings.

"I won't ever let you go," she said, and she raised her left hand in the air. "Swear on it."

Harry closed his eyes and allowed his breathing to slow and deepen, as though he was sleeping. He expected her to leave him after making that sort of promise. If there was one thing the Dursleys had taught him, it was that you had to notice what an adult does more than what one says.

Though she had no reason to believe that he was awake and listening, the mother sat in the hard-backed chair and began the strains of another tune.

"My feet they are sore, and my limbs they are weary. Long is the way and the mountains are wild..."

As though she were weaving a spell, Harry felt the lead in his fingers and toes. And the sudden certainty that he hadn't done what he was supposed to do. Far from it. And the right thing to do. It was... not this. Harry was happy, and this...

"_Soon will_ the twilight _close_ moonless and dreary. Over the path my poor orn'ry child..."

Harry gave up and followed her song into the heart of slumber.

The mother ceased her chirping at some point and her hands worked furiously in her lap. In the many twists and turns of her mind, she knew that six broken pieces of hard, black plastic stretched and thinned into needles, manipulated by the push and pull of her skilled fingers. She willed three of the needles into the electronic windows.

Her mind expanded further, to include three angles of two horrified looking people.

"Hello Coraline," she whispered. "You need a hair cut."

Amused as she was by Coraline's coarse language, the mother turned her button eyes to the boy beside Coraline. "Oh, and you. We remember you." Very casually, the mother raised first one hand, and then the other in a graceful wave.

"That's all in the past now, of course. You were a child. We forgive children," the other mother continued. Despite her long red hair and rosy cheeks, her coal-black eyes flashed as malevolently as Coraline remembered. She smiled and her face cracked one of the electronic windows. "Thank you for my son."

"You mean your sundae, evil witch? I know you finished off the Dursley kid with Harry on top!" Coraline grabbed one of the screens and knocked it over. With a spark, the mother was left to glow in only one electric window.

"Don't talk like that about your brother," the other mother whispered. "It upsets mother."

Coraline choked back a cry as she felt the ice-cold tips of two black needles prick her throat. Two red drops went down her neck when Wybie tried to get closer to Coraline. As he stepped back, glaring hatefully at his computer, the needles hovered a respectful inch from her thin white neck.

The mother raised her hand again and made a vague snipping motion. The two red-tipped black needles scissored against each other, and an inch-thick lock of blue hair fluttered on to the floor. A long, thin cut on the side of Coraline's neck bled red.

"Woops. Meant to snip, not slip." She laughed softly, and the third monitor to Wybie's computer blackened. However, her voice crackled from Wybie's speakers. "Hmmm... I promise you, next time mother is upset, she will slip. With all my love, dears."

Coraline stared at her red streaked fingers, only looking away when Wybie grabbed her around the shoulders and started pushing her out of his living room to the door.

"Stop! What the crap?"

"You're not safe here. She just used the Internet." Wybie held his head stiff and high.

"Don't be an idiot," Coraline said, wiggling out of his grasp. "If she can pull off that hocus pocus in the real world, I'm not safe anywhere and you are definitely not out of her clutches either."

"Go back to school, Jonesy." He was looking at her so angrily that Coraline wanted to punch out at least one of his eyes. "You do not fucking know everything that you need to know."

"Ooh, you swore," she said, crossing her arms. She tossed her head unconsciously and the now shortened stub of hair stuck to her cheek. "So she attacked me. Big whoop. I say we do things my way and take a hammer-"

Wybie gave her plenty of chances to react. Stubborn as she was, Coraline would not retreat as he took big steps into her personal bubble. Her lip stuck out in a pout as she glared up defiantly. He gave her plenty of time to see where his eyes were going. His neck creaked out a warning as it craned forward.

He should have had a shiner in each eye after an eon of hovering his mouth that close to her nose. He didn't even go as far as her mouth, more stunned by the lack of knuckle in his eyeball.

In the strictest technicalities, Wybie did not kiss Coraline.

In actuality, he wussed out and huffed onto the skin over her lip.

"Meow?" The Cat peered interestedly at the goings on of his humans.

Before striding magnificently out of the Pink Palace, Coraline smacked him so hard upside his head that Wybie could have sworn his head spun a couple of times. Wait, no, that was him twisting and falling to the ground. That was his brain doing flips.

"Merr," said the Cat. It dropped a stiff mouse on to the carpet. The Cat bent its head and nuzzled the little dead thing with a whiskered smooch.

"Har har," Wybie grunted.

Knowing that this was a completely unfair thought, Wybie realized that Harry would probably learn to be very, very afraid of women after the Beldam got through with him.

* * *

A/N: DON'T OWN HP, Coraline, or songs. Now this be a crazzzy chapter. Humor, angst, and romance abounds. With no small magic involved.

Thanks for reading this far. Thank you soooo much. Hoping to wrap this all up in two chapters.

To my reviewers: You guys have such great ideas about the Beldam. Soul magic! Real love for the Beldam! I'd love to read stories from you!


	8. Chapter 8

"Come out, come out wherever you are..."

He was not exactly in the safest place, and she was going to find him. Harry clenched his eyes shut and almost smacked his mouth before it blew his cover.

It had taken him several nerve wracking minutes to scurry into hiding, most of it spent prying at the many windows and doors leading out of the other Pink Palace. Until that moment, Harry had not realized that he hadn't been outside for a long time. At first, he'd hidden inside of the roomy cupboard in the parlor room but that had brought back the hungry nights when the Dursleys locked him up. When he no longer heard the floorboards creaking from the mother's footfalls, Harry dashed for the dining room and leaped into the wallpaper.

He'd landed atop a very, very tall tree which was problematic as he had no broom to fly him down nor any paint to draw himself an obscenely long ladder. Then he realized that with a bit of a run, he could jump to a cloud. Harry immediately regretted his decision when the cloud sprouted four legs, a tail, and the head of a highly offended sheep. Its beady eyes narrowed through its monocle.

"How rude! I say!" the sheep had bleated.

Caught off guard, Harry toppled into a milky river flowing through the night sky. Several beams of light, which Harry belatedly realized were stars, screamed in panic as he'd interrupted their bathing. Blushing horribly, he lost footing and was abducted by the current. Then: a waterfall. He'd managed to hang onto the fuzzy end of a rainbow, but his slippery fingers and the weight of his soggy clothes caused him to slide back onto a cloud. Fortunately, the cloud softened his impact and even absorbed most of the milk like a bundle of the most luxurious cotton towels.

The cloud was very sleepy and heavy after drinking in all that milk; it drooped ever closer to the rippling fields of green. Where she waited.

"Bother," Harry grumbled.

"I spy with my button eye...something Harry!" Her nails pinched when she practically snatched him off his fluffy hiding spot before it landed. The cloud's light snoring tousled his thick, black hair like a breeze before the mother's long fingers playfully tugged at his odd ends.

"I don't want to play anymore," Harry said moodily, from being caught by a girl.

"I tell you, even rocks crack, and not because of age," the mother crowed gaily. It was one of her curious sayings. At Harry's puzzled glance, she smiled tightly at him and looped her arm over his shoulder, where Harry could feel her fingers tapping insistently.

"It's also what toppled the Morningstar," she added, gazing at him expectantly. After a moment, her lips pursed. "It's what I see in your eyes, my darling boy. Coiled up like a serpent in blades of green, ready to strike my heart were I to exact a slight to your sensibilities."

Harry averted his gaze, heart pounding because she saw something terrible in him.

"Ah! There, I've done it, I've trodden upon that serpent. You'll be leaving me now," the mother quipped knowledgeably. "Unless I take the wickedness out from your eyes."

In a graceful, forward arc, her talons descended like dragonflies into twin green pools, and sank down in a red splash.

Harry woke up blind, without the aid of his glasses or a bedside lamp. He felt damp all over, as though he'd flailed in a river. Without further thought, he whipped the covers away and was startled when his sneakers hit the floor. Unbidden, he recalled instances of Aunt Petunia unlacing and removing Dudley's shoes. At the time, he'd wondered how she could withstand the odor. Now, Harry understood that no proper mother would never tuck him in if he were dressed like a marathon runner.

All he really was aware of upon changing into Dudley's old threads and tip-toeing out of his room was that the other mother was not a proper mother. He had to find Dudley, but he had no idea where to start, unless Dudley had already been eaten. In which case, the first place to check would be the other mother's stomach.

"Dudders," Harry whispered. His fingers itched where he felt the wall for guidance in the unlit hallway.

A floorboard moaned under the weight of his step. Harry froze when he felt something brush his leg; his heart and stomach hurled into somersaults around one another.

"Meow," he heard, and Harry had to fight the urge to yell at Wybie's stupid cat.

"Go 'way, kitty," Harry practically hissed. "Or make yourself useful." Then he shuddered, realizing that he had channeled Aunt Petunia to a tee.

"Wouldn't touch the walls if I were you; they're a part of her web," spoke the Cat.

Horrified, the small boy flinched from the wall and decided to try his luck on the stairs. A very large pizza-pie of a moon hovered not far from a round window; its light seeped down the stairs.

"Why didn't you talk before?" Harry asked, a tad irate from his interrupted sleep. "You might have saved Dudley from getting eaten."

The Cat leaped nimbling down the steps with nary a creak, and Harry trailed after it.

"My, how the tables have turned for your fatted foe," quipped the Cat. He stretched leisurely at the bottom of the stairwell while Harry struggled not to make a sound halfway through. "I talk here, not there. Besides, you ignored the girl's warning."

"How did you-?"

"How do you think a warning existed? Are you capable of thinking? What am I saying, you are a child. Spoiled or orphaned or enslaved, all are little idiots. Once she's thoroughly marinaded you little idiots in her sweet rhymes..." The Cat trailed off, its ears twitching, as it paid attention to that which escaped Harry's notice.

More than half of Harry desired to give the Cat a good kick, but the remaining less-than-half merely indulged in the pleasing image before reminding Harry that the Cat was like a very rude side-kick.

"The Key you have won't serve you if you can't reach the little door. Bluf. Bargain. Cheat." The Cat flicked a blue eye from the double doors to the little boy the double doors awaited. "_Those_ are the keys to the door. Without them, you are a bad ending."

Harry glanced nervously in the direction of the parlor room. "What about Dudley?"

There was a long pause in which Harry was sure the Cat had gone, until the Cat spoke once more in its deep voice. Harry couldn't even see the Cat's outline from where it crouched in the shadows. "It's not in her nature to resist."

Harry didn't like the look of its eyes and its teeth glinting like sharp gems in the dark; he was relieved when its grin and then its eyes winked out, leaving him to face a much nicer, scarier person.

He'd expected the doors to be locked, or rather he'd hoped. He might have given up and snuggled into bed once more after taking off his shoes. The knob turned all the way to the right, and Harry could hear the springs and gears parting to allow him entrance. He snatched his hand away and nervously shuffled his weight from one foot to the other. He was conscious of the sweat fogging up his glasses and itching his nose. The Key he'd hidden in his sneaker suddenly dug painfully into his heel.

While he was not talented at lying and cheating like Dudley was, Harry reckoned that she'd want the Key. He also knew that he didn't want to be caught with one shoe in hand if he had to show it to her. Harry stooped for a moment, pretending to tie his shoe laces in case she was somehow watching. His fingers, surprisingly nimble for their size, coaxed out the Key while tugging the back of his shoe. As he stood up slowly, marshaling his courage, his oversize plaid sleeve slid over his left fist.

This time, Harry tried knocking. Both of the doors opened slowly, like arms reaching out to grab him. Harry backpedaled out of the way, and then feeling like the little idiot that the Cat said he was, he entered the lair of the other mother.

"What's wrong, honey? Can't sleep?" She was not dressed in her fluffy white bedclothes, but wore a tiny black thing that rather scared him. "Would you like some warm milk?"

"Yes," Harry answered, hardly daring to believe it would be this easy. While she was in the kitchen heating up the milk, he would somehow locate Dudley-how hard could it be to find something the size of a rhino's bum-escape together, lock the door, and throw away the Key. Dudley would actually prove useful if he stood between Harry and a very ticked off Coraline.

His stomach dropped when she held her left hand out to him-the very one that she swore on to never let him go-and he had no choice but to take it as she lead him to the kitchen.

"What troubles my little darling?" purred the Other Mother, threading her hand through his hair. "What could you possibly want at this hour?"

_Bluff_, echoed the Cat's advice.

"I had a nightmare," Harry began. "about my aunt and uncle." He was relieved when she released him to pour milk from the jug into a stove pan.

The mother made a sympathetic noise before the timer beeped and she removed a tray of freshly baked cookies. "You must never think of them again, Harry. I wouldn't let them into my house for anything." She hummed a little as she served him the cookies on a pink dish and the milk steaming from a round mug.

"I dreamed they were in trouble-"

"That won't do, not at all. Harry, you're a sweet child to keep them in your thoughts, but the Dursleys are over." She tossed the baking tray into the sink where it clanged against the faucet. The ceiling light flickered, its sporadic brightness revealing the deep lines under her narrowed eyes. "You can eat whatever you like at any time and however much of it you want. Pizza, hot dogs, ice cream, pastries, candy... tell me and you will have it. You can explore to your heart's content and I won't force you to stay away from the good china or to get down from there or other boorish rules."

She booped his nose. "Don't trouble yourself with worries."

"I want to see that they're okay." Harry smooshed a cookie crumb under his thumb nervously.

"Is that it, then?" the mother gushed. She grabbed his hand and hauled him out of his chair to the hallway where a large mirror reflected Harry's startled expression. He couldn't see anything in the mirror except for his pale face and the mother's thin arms wrapped around his shoulders. "Look closer." A long, white finger caressed the glass, which fogged over immediately. When it cleared, Harry did see his aunt and uncle.

They were kissing, and Petunia had one high heeled foot hanging in the air. They looked more okay than he had ever seen them, and it was absolutely disgusting.

"Good thing that scamp ran off," rumbled Dursley.

"He should have done it when he learned to walk," agreed Petunia.

Their reactions to him missing were pretty much what he expected, but then they continued.

"Always eating through the budget."

"Demanding hundreds of pounds of toys."

"Breaking hundreds of pounds of toys."

"Without him, we can afford to keep the house in Surrey!"

"Forget Surrey! Let's start over again, Vernon."

"Where to, my love, my life, my flower?"

"London. Paris. New York!"

With a hippopotamic bellow, Vernon swept Petunia off of her feet, and it rather looked like a wrestling move, until they kissed passionately again.

Harry slapped his hands over his glasses and fought against his gag reflex. "I've seen enough. They're nutters, but they're over the moon, I get it. Make it stop." When he looked into the mirror, it was him again, looking more than a bit peaky.

"Are you convinced?" The mother hunched down and pecked him on the cheek with her red lips.

"They've forgotten all about me. Didn't mention me once," Harry said, and he was surprised that it bothered him.

"Return the favor, little darling. Forget them." She turned him around and hugged him tightly, blacking out his vision. He felt her nails tracing over his hair and over his back, despite the layers of his baggy clothes. Tension mounted between his shoulders and he pushed her away.

"NO!" he yelled, stomping his foot.

"No to what?" she asked, completely mystified.

"It's fake! It's all a fake! Everything here isn't real," Harry said, getting excited now that he was on a roll. "Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon treated me like rubbish, but they love Dudley. They called the coppers when he went missing. When you took him away..." Harry trailed off and he pointed an accusing finger at the Other Mother.

"The Dursleys always gave Dudley everything he wanted that they had. They wouldn't forget about him. You're just lying to me so you can get away with stealing Dudley. Where is he? I want to know where you put him!"

Her face hardened as she glared down at him, not saying anything to Harry's insolent words. There was nothing tender or doting about the Other Mother now. Her skin blanched a bony white and the rosy red of her hair darkened quietly like her rage. She stood up very straight, so straight that Harry could've sworn that she grew three feet taller.

"Good little boys get all of Mother's joy. Bad little brats get only smacks!" Her spindly hand raised in the air before colliding with Harry's cheek. He lost his footing from the bruising blow and tumbled back, expecting to catch his balance on the mirror.

Instead, he went right through the mirror and into absolute black. Falling on what felt like a cement floor knocked the wind painfully from his chest.

"**Time out** for you, mister. I'll let you out when you've learned to be a good little boy."

* * *

A/N: No promises to finish this any time soon. Down to one last chapter. Hope you enjoyed! Do not own.


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